


Mission: Domesticity

by Hedwig_Dordt



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedwig_Dordt/pseuds/Hedwig_Dordt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Q is a foodie, Bond a wonderful boyfriend.</p><p>Does what it says on the tin, basically</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mission: Domesticity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rucha_Sharma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rucha_Sharma/gifts).



> Birthday present for darling Rucha, who wanted fluff, and had no objection to a bit of smut. So here we are. जन्मदिन की शुभकामनाएं (I think. I ran this through Google Translate) 
> 
> Peter Burton is my go-to name for Q’s civilian identity, after one of the actors that played an earlier iteration of Q. I’m a bit of a foodie myself, and I remembered a post about how Q might very well be one of those foodie hipsters. The idea stuck. I went to Borough Market a couple of years ago when I last was in London, so the feel of the place is true, even if some of the shops are made up. I have been hoping Persian cuisine is the next big thing for years, so I’m doing my bit here. Recipes are from Sabrina Ghayour’s Persiana. I’ve been a vegetarian for about a decade so I can’t really vouch for it. 
> 
> Thank you to darling husband for brainstorming movie ideas with me, and to Fightyourdragon for making this fic better than it was when I wrote the first version. Remaining flaws of course are mine.

He hangs his bag on the first peg in the hallway and hangs up his coat on the second, turns on his private phone and toes off his shoes. He listens for the beep of incoming texts as he wanders into his flat, turns on the kettle and eases himself out of having been Q all day. The kettle clicks off and he pours himself a mug of tea. He texts his sister back, agreeing to see her for dinner next week.

 _It’s only been two hours since I saw you and I miss you already_ , he texts James.

 _Good_ , James texts back almost instantly. _I can still come over_ , James follows up.

Peter smiles at his screen. _Tempting, but no. I’ll see you tomorrow._

He takes a shower while his tea steeps and pads back into the living room in his pajamas. He takes The Rhesus Chart from the shelf and settles in on the couch. He texts a picture of the cover to his sister, with the caption ‘hot date’. She texts him back a thumbs-up. He lets the quiet of his flat wash over him as he opens the book and starts to read. When he feels his eyelids getting heavy from an intense week of work and a serious amount of sex, he closes his book and puts it back on the shelf. He puts his cup in the sink, vowing privately to do the dishes before his cleaning lady comes in Tuesday. He brushes his teeth, picks up his phone and goes to bed.

 _That was exactly what I needed_ , he texts James, _can’t wait to see you tomorrow_ , followed by a kissing emoji. He plugs his phone into the chargers and takes off his pajama pants.  He is about to take his glasses off when his phone dings a snap chat alert. He slides to unlock his phone and smiles as he sees a picture of James’ face with a hint of collarbone captioned _Sweet Dreams_. Peter adjusts the light on his nightstand and takes a few pictures of his face, making kissing lips at the camera, and deleting every one. After five failed attempts he just shrugs off his shirt and takes a shot of himself on his side, clearly showing some of his naked torso as well as his face. _Sleep well. You’ll need your rest for tomorrow ;)_ he captions it. He takes off his glasses, puts them on the nightstand and feels around for the charger of his phone. Just when he’s plugged in his phone, his phone buzzes again.

 _Oh, the things I want to do to you_ , reads the caption to a picture of what looks like a silk scarf.

The thought of being blindfolded sends butterflies fluttering in his stomach. How did he not know James keeps a scarf near his bed? But this means it’s on, as far as Peter is concerned. He throws back the cover and turns on the light. He keeps his pants on, but palms his half-hard cock. He slips his thumb under the waistband of his pants and pulls it down just a little and snaps a picture. _I would let you_ , he adds, and he takes off his pants to stroke himself in earnest. He groans with arousal when an idea strikes him. He records the sound of his moaning, only a little louder than he normally would, and sends it to James. _Because you do me right_ , he adds in the next tag. The phone rings.

“Jesus, Peter you can’t do that to me,” James says without preamble.

“You started it, doesn’t mean I can’t finish it,” Peter returns. “You missed me?”

“I just wanted to kiss you goodnight,” James says quasi-innocently, “you’re the one that’s turning a simple snap into a sexting situation.”

“Rub your thumb over your nipple, you like that,” Peter instructs. He is rewarded with a heavy sigh. “I’m taking the lube out of the bedside table, hold that thought.” He puts down the phone, puts it on speaker and dives for his lube, chastising himself for not planning this ahead. He squirts some lube onto his hand, and hears James’ heavy breaths. “Here I am again,” he announces. “I’m so hard, just from thinking about licking your nipples.”

“Christ, Peter, the things you do to me,” James bites out, “I’m taking off my pants now.”

“Are you imagining my hand over your arse, your thighs, down the inside of your knees?” Peter asks. “I would squeeze your butt, because it feels so good.” He hears the soft flop of fabric falling on the floor in the background. “I bet you’re hard now, aren’t you? You’re so gorgeous, it’s not even fair. Are you stroking yourself?”

“Yeah,” it comes breathily from the other side of the line, “Are you?”

“Oh yes, I’m cupping my balls now. I love it when you lick them just before you go down on me.”

“I know, the sounds you make are amazing,” James returns. “I wish you were here, I would suck you off, slowly tease you…” Peter groans while he jerks himself. “I would tease you right to the edge of orgasm, and then I’d stop for a moment. Because you’re so hot when you get bossy, and you try to pull at my hair, and god help me that turns me on, that you let me do that,” James continues.

“I’m about to come,” Peter pants, “do you want me to come now?”

“If I were there, I’d jerk you off, in nice hard strokes, just like you’re doing now. You’re always a little rough with yourself. Pinch your nipple for me.”

Peter groans loudly as he comes with that last bit of stimulation. “I’m spilling all over my hand,” he admits hoarsely, “you made me come without even touching me.”

“I can just imagine you, aaah,” James bites out, “oh yes, I’m...yes…”

“Come for me, James,” Peter whispers seductively, “hard and fast, just as you like it.” James’ breaths are ragged, and Peter knows just what James looks like now, about to come, his hips canted, bucking into his hand. A throaty breath tells Peter James is climaxing. “Maybe I’ll show you what you missed tomorrow,” Peter promises, “for now, sweet dreams.”

“Good night Peter. See you tomorrow.”

“Not if I see you first.” Peter hangs up, connects his phone to the charger, puts on his pants, and goes to sleep.

  
  


Peter wakes up Saturday morning with a smile on his face. There’s a particular joy in waking up because you feel like it, and not because you have to. It’s Saturday morning, he realises, it’s Saturday morning and I’m going to Borough Market with my boyfriend, he thinks to himself. He feels at the nightstand for his glasses, and picks up his phone to turn on the radio with the remote he programmed into it. He throws back the covers and gets dressed: skinny jeans, a t-shirt and a plaid button down over it. He wanders into the kitchen and pours some of his granola into a bowl and adds oat milk. He decides against taking out a cookbook, and goes looking for his messenger bag. He checks if he has what he needs: wallet, phone, a clean shirt for Sunday, his coat and a tote bag. He texts James ‘ _good morning. I’m leaving the house now. Meet you at the cafe?_ ' He puts on his headphone and locks the door behind him after he leaves the flat. He considers whether he should take the underground or his bike. Since James will likely take his car, he decides to take the underground so he doesn’t have to abandon his bike.

He enjoys taking the underground. He loves blending in, loves being just another person going about his day. There’s no mistaking he loves his job, he loves that it’s on the edge of technology and use, and he gets to serve his country -public values were instilled on him from an early age. And being in a more managerial role means less tinkering, and it does mean more people recognising you and wanting things from you, but it also means he has his finger in more diverse pies. He likes getting his way in things. But some days he just wants to be Peter Burton again, and not Q. Every now and again when travelling on the underground, he gets dizzy with the realisation that every last one of the passengers around him has a life, loves at least someone and is going somewhere. He gets off at London Bridge. He surveys the crowd, casually checking if anyone has been following him, when he spots James, grinning at him. He waves at him, trying not to run over. James folds a newspaper into the pocket of his coat and opens his arms. Peter runs the last three paces kisses him while James wraps his arms around him. They make out for a bit before Peter disentangles and says,“You’re already here. You missed me that much?”

“Oh, don’t get smart with me, you missed me too.”

Peter grins at him. “Let’s go. We have shopping to do.”

“What’s tonight’s special?”

“In honour of the nuclear deal, I thought Persian food.”

“Only you would take serious international issues as a cooking opportunity,” James teases. James takes his hand, “Let’s go. See if we can find what you need.” Peter takes a second to appreciate the warmth of James’ hand slipping over his own. A boyfriend to go shopping on Saturday mornings, he thinks to himself as they leave the station to walk to Borough Market.

“Mission brief?” James asks.

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it,” Peter says in his best M imitation, “is to keep your boyfriend from losing his mind between the tourists, and maybe one or two decisions about dinner. No more.”

“I accept. Now, are there gadgets?”

“Nope. Try to remember there’s a substantial civilian population surrounding you. Unless you’re offering to carry the bags, in which case the answer is absolutely yes.”

 

They roam the market. Peter explains he usually does his Saturday shopping in two rounds: once to see what’s on offer and possibly at what price, and the second to actually buy what he needs. Or wants, as the case may be.

“One thing,” James says.

“Sure?”

“Can we get coffee first?”

“I know just the place,” Peter says enthusiastically, “they source directly from Vietnam, and they invest large percentage of their proceeds back into the local economy.” He stops in at a small stall, where they are greeted by the girl at the counter.

“What can I get you gentlemen?”

“I’ll have a cup of Margaret’s Hope, and he’s getting a cup of Puro Vida.” The girl smiles at him and nods approvingly, and immediately turns around to start boiling water.

“Hey!” James objects. The girl turns around.

“Trust me?” Peter asks. James pouts, actually pouts, but lets him. The girl turns back to making coffee and tea. Peter tries to sneak into James’ coat, and slides his hands underneath James’ shirt. A little later she hands them both their cups. Peter pays and they resume their walk towards the market.

“Okay, this is quite good coffee,” James admits begrudgingly. “Coming from someone who doesn’t drink coffee.”

Peter smirks at him. “I may not know a lot about coffee, but I know what you like,” he says with a hint of pride.

“You’re a bloody tease, that’s what you are,” James replies,but there’s no heat to it.

 

“Okay, we’re looking for a fragrant rice, pomegranate and spinach. And probably some spices, but that won’t take a lot of work. I was thinking new year’s rice and a chicken stew. Or herbs, if we can find an interesting mixture.”

“Sure thing. Anything I should be looking out for?”

“Maybe I’ll think of something later.”

James hums and falls in step with him. Peter sees a few other people that are usually here at this time of the day. He eventually stops at the vegetable shop.

“Good morning, what’s good today?”

“What are you planning?”

“Persian food.”

“Are you feeding him too?” the greengrocer asks nodding at James.

“Oh, he’s not picky,” Peter says, then reconsiders.  “Well, actually, he’s kind of fussy. I’m just figuring out what makes him happy.”

“I’m right here,” James reminds them.

Peter squeezes his hand, “I’m making sabzi polow and khoresh-e-fesenjan.”

The vendor nods, “So, you’ll be needing coriander, parsley, and spring onions?”

“Yes, please,” Peter nods.

The vendor picks up a bunches of both. “Anything else?” They find the rest of the vegetables and some fruit, and make for the cheese shop, where they find some feta, and filling for the rest of the week’s dinners. They pick up four legs of chicken at a butcher Peter was very specific about. It’s almost noon when they have found everything they want.

“Burgers for lunch? I know just the place.” Peter suggests.

“I don’t doubt it,” James says. “Lead the way.”

To James’ horror, Peter immediately stalks over to a stand that proudly proclaims itself vegan/vegetarian. “Oh, don’t start,” Peter scolds, “it’s great food, that just happens to be made of plants.” In retaliation, Peter orders for them both, but he does pay. They eat their burgers standing up, and James grudgingly admits it tastes okay. Peter kisses him on the cheek, just because.

 

As Peter expected, James had taken the car. James carries the grocery bags to his car, and loads them into the trunk as Peter gets in on the passenger’s side. By unspoken agreement, they drive to James’ flat. When James has parked, Peter grabs half the grocery bags to allow James to open the door. Peter hangs up his coat on the  coat rack, pleased at how comfortable it feels. He takes off his shoes and starts putting  away his market treasures in the fridge while James puts the kettle on to make tea (for Peter) and coffee (for himself). Peter pecks him on the cheek when James presses the coffee grind down in the cafetière. Peter finds a bowl and the scale and measures out some of the rice. He tips it into the bowl, and adds water.

“That has to soak for a couple of hours,” he announces.

“Did you bring a book?” James asks.

“Nah, I’m still reading The Subtle Knife. Did you finish The Hidden Family yet?” Peter looks around, looking for the book he found at James’ place.

“I think I put it back onto its shelf.” James puts the tea mug and coffee cup on a table next to the couch. Peter looks over the backs and finds the copy. James even put a bookmark in for him. They settle in on the couch, Peter burying his feet under James’ thighs, James stroking his calves absentmindedly. A sense of calm washes over Peter. He never was unhappy without a partner, really. He doesn’t believe in another person completing you. But being with James like this settles something inside him.

 

James opens a package of crisps at four in the afternoon, and puts it a bowl that he puts on a coffee table with two beers. Peter settles his head in James’ lap, spreading his legs all over the couch, his feet on the arm rest. James feeds him an occasional chip. When it turns five, James puts down his book, and runs his fingers through Peter’s hair: “I think you might want to get started on the cooking, love,” he says softly.

“Not if you keep doing that…” Peter sighs happily.

James pulls back his hand. “You’re free to go.”

“Not the effect I was aiming for,” Peter mutters as he slings his feet off of the arm rests.

“You know you want to cook,” James reminds him. Peter purses his lips, nods and gets up to move to the kitchen. James follows him.

“What can I do?” James asks. Peter surveys the work space.

“You can start the rice and go on chopping the herbs,” he decides, “I’ll start the stew.”

Peter finds two cutting boards, and two knives he deems passably sharp. He finds the mint, dill, parsley and spring onions, and lays them out for James on one cutting board. He puts the rice bowl next to it. On his own board, he spreads out the peeled walnuts and he starts chopping.

“You know, I have a blender,” James offers, “it’s in a closet somewhere.”

“Not the same,” Peter shakes his head. James shrugs and starts up the rice. Peter slices an onion into fine half-moons, and throws them into a casserole with some oil. He takes a dinner plate from a shelf, and takes a frying pan. In the frying pan he starts toasting the flour.

James looks at it with a frown. “Isn’t that supposed to go in with the onions?”

Peter just shakes his head, and adds the ground up walnuts, and gives it a good shake. He gives the onions a good stir, and takes the chicken from the fridge and adds it to the casserole to get sealed and get some colour. James wordlessly puts a pair of tongs on the countertop. He adds a glass of water to the flour-walnut mixture in the frying pan, and then another and another and brings the whole thing to a boil. When Peter is satisfied the chicken is sufficiently cooked, he transfers it to the casserole to let the chicken slowly cook through. In the meantime, James has drained the rice, and tossed it back into the pot, with the herbs, a lot of butter and some salt.

“Looking good,” Peter says.

James smiles at him, and pulls him in. Peter puts his arms around him, and tilts his head for a kiss. James kisses his lips, closed mouthed, and then his forehead.

“I keep trying to figure out if you’re trying to impress me or just really fond of cooking,” James says earnestly.

“Can’t it be both?” Peter leans in to steal another kiss. James deepens the kiss until they are making out like teenagers. Peter sets the timer on the rice, and starts organising the dishes into the dishwasher. He takes the pomegranate from the fruit bowl where James had placed it and slices it in two. “You want to do the honours?” he asks James.

James finds a wooden spoon and starts bashing the fruit so the seeds come raining out. Peter hides behind James’ back, slipping his arms around him and resting his head against James’ back.

“You want me to do the second half too?” James asks, stroking over Peter’s fingers.

“Yes, please. For dessert.” Peter is rubbing his head against James’ back, inhaling slowly and enjoying the rolling of James’ back muscles as he starts bashing the second half.

When James is done, Peter lets go of him. “I’m starting to feel hungry smelling all of this,” he says.

“A couple of minutes for the rice, I think. Shall I set the table? You can finish up dinner. I’m sure you have serious thoughts on that.”

Peter hums, and James gets the plates out to set the table in the living room.

 

They have dinner and watch Gattaca, a stylish compromise between science fiction and character driven story. They make out on the couch for a bit before moving it to the bedroom. When Peter spoons up against James’ chest he heaves a sigh. “James?”

“Hmm?”

“I... I’m really happy now.”

“Good.” After a beat of silence, James adds, “I’m happy too.”

“Good. Sleep well.”

James presses a kiss against the back of his head and hugs him a little closer.

_I hope I never start taking this for granted_ , Peter thinks just before falling asleep.


End file.
